


bloom

by ictus



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Botany, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2020-12-28 19:37:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus
Summary: "I've wanted to be a botanist ever since I was a kid. I've spent my whole life working towards this. And I’m supposed to—what? Just give that up? I don't want to throw all that away to become a pilot."Jim regards Hikaru for a long moment. Then he shrugs and says, "So do both."Hikaru never dreamed he'd end up at the helm of theUSS Enterprise. He has only one man to thank for that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [downjune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/downjune/gifts).

> Endless thanks to phnelt for providing such a thoughtful beta on short notice, and for being so wonderful to work with. See endnote for a list of all plants referenced.

** _Sambucus nigra_ **

It’s not until Hikaru finds himself drinking alone on a rooftop that he realises the party was a terrible idea.

The official Starfleet Academy Charter expressly forbids ‘social gatherings of an unruly nature’ in campus dorms, but makes no such statement about classrooms. It seems that someone, in an impressive feat of ingenuity and moxie, has overridden the security protocols of the Astrophysics Building, setting the cameras on a repeating loop and allowing cadets after-hours access. Hikaru makes a mental note to find out who did it, and resolves to never cross them.

Now the entire upper floor is overrun with cadets, with flashing lights and music pulsing from every classroom. Hikaru wants to knock back a few drinks in celebration of the end of another term, wants to enjoy himself along with everyone else, but his heart isn’t in it. He’s distracted, listless. He does a couple of shots and they go straight to his head, but do nothing to lift his mood. He sips his beer, mostly out of a need to do something with his hands, and finds his mind drifting.

He makes a snap decision.

“I’m going to get some air,” he shouts to no one in particular, and heads for the nearest exit.

Which is how Hikaru ends up on the roof of the Astrophysics Building at 0100 hours, his legs dangling over the edge, and the entire campus spread out beneath him. Hikaru shivers, drawing his jacket more tightly around himself. It’s much colder than he expected. Sometime, during the nonstop onslaught of essays, practicums, and exams, the calendar had ticked over to December, and now winter is well and truly upon them. Hikaru watches his breath rise in a mist before him, feels the sharp sting of air on his flushed cheeks, and chugs his beer just to keep warm.

He’s down to his last sip when the door to the stairwell bursts open. Hikaru flinches when it slams against the rail, and is met with laughter. His unexpected guest—a guy around Hikaru’s own age—continues to laugh despite Hikaru’s glare. Hikaru hates that his first impression is that he’s attractive, and the fact that he’s an asshole only registers a few seconds later.

“Sorry, I didn’t think there’d be anyone up here.”

“I was just getting some air,” Hikaru says.

“Fair enough, it’s pretty wild down there.”

They stare at each other for a moment before Hikaru realises it’s his turn to talk. “What are you doing up here?”

“Came to get some more beer. We put it out here to chill because we ran out of room in the coolers.” He gestures to a couple of crates that are stacked near the door. “I’m Jim, by the way.”

The word _Sulu_ is on the tip of Hikaru’s tongue, but he thinks better of it. Standard protocol dictates that all personnel refer to each other by their rank and surname, but Jim doesn’t seem to care for that.

“Hikaru,” he says eventually.

Jim doesn’t ask if it’s his first or second name, just says, “Hi-ka-ru,” testing the feel of it on his tongue, shaping each syllable with a slow deliberation. “You look like you’re nearly out,” he gestures to Hikaru’s empty bottle.

“Looks it.”

“You want another?” Hikaru shrugs. Maybe Jim’s not such an asshole after all. “Here, try this.” Jim grabs a bottle from one of the crates and uncaps it with his belt buckle. Hikaru makes a conscious effort not to lick his lips.

Hikaru doesn’t recognise the label, and when he takes a sip he tastes something light and floral, offset by the crisp taste of apple.

“Elderflower cider,” Jim says in response to Hikaru’s unanswered question, sitting down beside him. “Not my favourite, but it’s better than the crap they’ve got downstairs.”

“It’s nice. Thank you,” he says, handing the bottle back to Jim.

Jim tilts the neck of the bottle in Hikaru’s direction, making a little _cheers_ gesture, then raises it to his mouth, his lips forming a perfect circle around the rim. Hikaru watches Jim, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, and realises too late that he’s staring. Christ, he’s drunker than he thought.

Jim’s eyes crinkle, and Hikaru knows his been caught. But when Jim hands him the bottle again, all he says is, “So what’s eating you, Hikaru?”

Hikaru pauses with the bottle halfway to his mouth. “What makes you think something’s eating me?”

“Wild guess,” Jim says with a shrug, and Hikaru can’t help but laugh. He probably looks more than a little pathetic, drinking alone while the party rages downstairs. 

Hikaru takes another sip, stalling. “I uh, had a flight sim test with Commander Harrington earlier this week.”

“Ah well, Harrington’s notorious for being a hard-ass.” Jim leans in to take the bottle, drawing Hikaru’s attention to how close they are; sitting side by side, shoulders touching as they share the same drink. “Seriously,” Jim continues, “she actually made someone in my class cry. I wouldn’t take what she says too personally.”

“That’s the thing, though. I didn’t do badly. Actually, I scored a 390.”

Jim’s mouth falls open. “Bullshit,” he whispers.

“I’m afraid not.” Hikaru plucks the bottle from Jim’s loosened grasp and takes a long, slow pull. Jim watches him, dumbfounded.

“I’ve never met anyone who scored higher than a 350.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Which track are you?”

“Funny you should ask. I’m on the Science Track, Plant Biology major.”

Jim splutters. “You’re a _botanist?_”

Hikaru nods grimly. Introductory pilot courses were mandatory for every Starfleet cadet, regardless of major. The idea was, if they ever found themselves stranded on a deserted planet, they’d have the capacity to operate a shuttlecraft, at the very least. The introductory flights sims were simple, designed to test reflexes and natural aptitude rather than technical knowledge. That part would come later.

Jim’s still gaping at him. “But with those scores, you should—”

“Consider changing tracks? Yeah that’s what Commander Harrington said. I didn’t even consider it until I spoke to my advisor—”

“Who told you you’d be crazy not to?”

Hikaru grimaces. “Pretty much.”

“Ah yes, I know the spiel. ‘Aptitude tests off the chart,’ ‘you have an obligation to live up to your potential,’ et cetera, et cetera.”

“That’s the one. The thing is,” Hikaru says, picking at the label, “I always wanted to be a botanist. Ever since I was a kid. And when I learnt that I could do that _in space_, it seemed so perfect, you know?”

Jim nods.

“And I’m supposed to—what? Just give that up? It’s so easy for the brass to look down on us like—like we’re just pawns, like we’re soldiers—and I get it, Starfleet’s military, but it’s also about exploration. Starfleet _needs_ scientists, and this is what I’ve been working towards my entire life. I don't want to throw all that away to be a pilot, just because I did well on some test.”

Jim regards Hikaru for a long moment. Then he shrugs and says, “So do both. ”

Hikaru blinks. “Sorry?”

“You want to be a botanist, but you also have a natural aptitude for piloting. There’s no reason why you can’t do both.”

“But I’m already in my third year. If I were to change tracks now, it would set me back two years.”

Jim hums. “Well, let’s see. Advanced Aeronautical runs next term and has a couple of prerequisites. But if you talk to your advisor, they’ll let you take the prereqs alongside the advanced course, which means you won’t have to wait a year until it runs again. Evasive Tactics usually runs in the spring, but it has a high failure rate so they run an extra course over the summer. You should be able to make up some of your science units then too. You can still graduate on time.”

Hikaru frowns. “How do you know all this?”

“Because I signed on to finish the Command Track in three years and I’m doing the same thing. Pike arranged it,” he adds with a shrug, as if that explains everything, as if it’s that easy. Hikaru thinks of the way Jim had said _so do both,_ and realises that maybe for Jim, it is.

“But—”

“Look Hikaru, I don’t wanna push you into something you don’t want to do. But the skills that you have? That’s something that can’t be taught. People with that kind of talent get handpicked for the ‘Fleet’s flagships, they’re the ones that get chosen for the deep space missions. Imagine being the first to discover new species, imagine being at the forefront of that.” Jim’s turned his gaze to the sky, his voice gone soft. His eyes are very bright, and Hikaru thinks—stupidly, drunkenly—that they’re the kind of blue they write songs about.

Hikaru doesn’t know why he does it. He could relive this night a hundred times and would never be able to explain it. But when Jim turns to meet his eyes, Hikaru reaches for him. Steadying him with a hand on his jaw, Hikaru leans in and kisses him, softly at first. Jim makes a surprised sound against his mouth—surprised but pleased, Hikaru thinks—and when Jim gets a hand around the back of his neck to deepen the kiss, Hikaru can’t help but groan against him.

“That was a hell of a pep talk,” Hikaru mumbles when they part.

Jim laughs, the sound sparking something bright in Hikaru’s chest. “So glad I could inspire you.”

Jim pulls him into another kiss and when they break apart, he swings a leg over Hikaru so he’s straddling his thighs. Hikaru smooths his hands down Jim’s back until he reaches the curve of his ass, then draws Jim into his lap so their hips are flush, the sudden friction feeling impossibly good. Jim brings their mouths together as he pushes off Hikaru’s jacket and discards it somewhere behind him. Jim is sweet with the taste of elderflower, his obvious desire rolling off him in waves, and Hikaru thinks he could get off just like this, with Jim hot in his lap and desperate for his touch.

But Jim has other ideas. He shifts them away from the ledge, guiding Hikaru so he’s flat on his back. Jim pushes Hikaru’s shirt up under his arms and Hikaru flinches at the cold air on his heated skin, the concrete rough against his back. But Jim’s hands are all over him in an instant, touching him in a hundred different places as if he’s trying to catalogue them all. Hikaru arches into the press of Jim’s hands, his muscles jumping at every point where their bodies touch. It’s not long before Jim’s running his hands even lower, and Hikaru wants that too. Jim wastes no time getting Hikaru’s jeans undone, and from the second Jim gets his hand around his cock, Hikaru knows that he’s done for, can already feel himself unravelling under Jim’s touch.

Jim blows Hikaru right there on the rooftop with Hikaru’s pants around his thighs and Jim’s name on his lips. It’s desperate and filthy, the hot slide of Jim’s lips, the choked-off moans that escape his throat. When Hikaru says he’s close, Jim just takes him deeper, his hands bracketing Hikaru’s hips as Hikaru shudders and spills down Jim’s throat.

For a long time afterwards, Hikaru can only lie on the concrete and watch the stars overhead.

“Holy fuck,” Hikaru says eventually, still trying to catch his breath. His orgasm has left him boneless, his head spinning as the alcohol catches up to him in a dizzying rush. Jim looks utterly debauched, his lips shiny red and his hair a mess, and Hikaru can barely help himself.

“Let me,” Hikaru murmurs as he draws his hand up the inside of Jim’s thigh. Jim’s eyes flutter closed when Hikaru’s hand closes over the bulge in his pants, the word _yes_ leaving his lips on a sigh.

Hikaru’s barely started on his belt when the rooftop door suddenly bursts open.

“Jim! How can you leave me alone with all these—” The man stops dead in tracks, catching sight of both of them. Hikaru turns away to cover himself, quickly fixes his pants as his face heats with embarrassment. Jim on the other hand, doesn’t seem particularly concerned.

“Oh, of course,” the man says. “Don’t know what I expected.”

“Sorry Bones,” Jim says to the other man. He fixes his belt unhurriedly, shooting Hikaru an easy smile. Before he climbs off Hikaru’s lap, he leans in close to mouth the words _next time_, punctuating them with a wink.

“Hell I don’t even know why I’m surprised,” says the other man. “I knew this would happen when you dragged me out here.”

“Dragged?” Jim asks, rising unsteadily to his feet. “You were the one who said you were dying for a drink. C’mon, let’s grab some of these.” Hikaru watches them each lift a couple of crates to take downstairs. “Catch you later Hikaru,” Jim says cheerfully.

The door closes before Hikaru can reply, leaving him alone on the rooftop with his pulse pounding in his ears.

* * *

** _Mammillaria spinosissima_ **

The winter break passes far too quickly. Aside from a quick visit to his parents’, Hikaru spends most of his time on campus, enjoying the empty grounds and having his dorm to himself for a change. The scratches on his back eventually fade, but Jim’s words continue to linger. _So do both_.

Changing tracks at this point would be disastrous, adding immense stress to his already massive workload. Hikaru’s somehow both surprised and not to discover that the trajectory Jim had described is actually feasible, although the logistics of taking six subjects in a single term is something he still struggles to comprehend.

All he needs is the approval of his advisor.

Hikaru finds himself waiting outside her office the week before term, still undecided. An hour later, he’s officially enrolled in the Command Track: Piloting Major, Plant Biology Submajor, with an increased course load and a new insignia to match. Hikaru turns the emblem over in his hands, running his fingers over the starshaped cut-out, and begins to wonder how he would look dressed in gold.

*

Jim, true to his word, is there on the first day of Advanced Aeronautical. He gives Hikaru a salute as he passes Hikaru’s desk, his lips curving into a smile. The gesture brings back memories of the last time Hikaru had felt Jim’s lips on him, the way he’d leaned in close and whispered, _next time._ It’s a well-worn memory in Hikaru’s mind, and seeing Jim again has only added fuel to the fire. All of the images from that night come back in a dizzying rush, and Hikaru’s so distracted he doesn’t realise the lecture has already started. 

Unsurprisingly, the class is incredibly difficult. Hikaru’s already struggling with the basics, but to learn the advanced content without knowing the fundamentals is a feat that borders on impossible. Hikaru knows he’s at the bottom of the class. He begins to dread the lectures, unable to shake the feeling that he’s made a huge mistake by trying to force himself into a career that isn’t right for him.

That is, until they take their first practical.

Hikaru, having only just learned what these controls _do_ let alone how to use them, scores in the top three of his cohort. One of the cadets who outscores him is a wide-eyed Russian boy who, from what Hikaru’s heard, doesn’t even want to be a pilot.

The other one is Jim.

“Nice work,” Jim says, slapping Hikaru on the back as he emerges from the simulator.

Hikaru nods. “You too.”

Jim makes a derisive noise. “Please, that was nothing. Just wait until you get the hang of the controls. You’ll be outflying me in no time.”

*

Hikaru spends the next few months trying to stay on top of his coursework, reading ahead in his Foundations class just to make sense of the content in his Advanced course. His only reprieve comes in the form of his twenty-third birthday, the one night in his calendar that he can take off guilt-free, and a reasonable excuse to get drunk with his Plant Bio friends. Hikaru’s roommate Riley takes the lead and somehow manages to shepherd three dozen cadets into O’Malleys, one of Hikaru’s favourite haunts from the era when he actually had a social life.

Hikaru’s about four drinks into the evening when a familiar voice call his name. “Hikaru! Hey, there you are!”

Hikaru freezes. There’s only one person who calls him by his first name, but there’s no way—

“Jim,” Hikaru says, stunned.

Jim Kirk is indeed standing before him, dressed in civvies and holding a small gift bag. Hikaru’s forced to do some intense mental gymnastics to reconcile the image of Jim Kirk: Future Starfleet Captain among his Plant Bio friends, who spend more time culturing slime mould than talking to other humans. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I heard it was your birthday and I thought I’d stop by,” Jim says. _From whom_, Hikaru wants to ask, but then Riley catches his eye and all Hikaru can think is, _I’m going to kill him_.

“I got you something,” Jim says, holding out the bag.

“Oh you didn’t have to—I mean, thank you.” Hikaru peers inside. “Is that a… cactus?”

Jim’s smile is blinding. “Well I know you like plants, and the guy at the shop told me these things are impossible to kill.” Hikaru stares at him blankly. Jim’s face slowly falls. “I mean, you don’t have to take it if you don’t want it—”

“No no! It’s perfect. A little less exciting than what I’m used to, but at least this one doesn’t require a biohazard suit.”

“Well it should, I stabbed myself three times just trying to get it into the bag.”

Hikaru laughs far too hard, then tries to cover it with a cough. Smooth. “Uh, did you want a drink?”

“Sure.”

They make their way to the bar, weaving through the crowd of cadets as they go. Hikaru orders, but it’s Jim who slides a couple of credits across the bar.

“That was sneaky,” Hikaru says when the bartender sets down their drinks.

Jim leans in close enough to be heard over the music, his breath hot on Hikaru’s neck. “What, like I’m going to let you buy your own drinks on your birthday?”

Hikaru’s voice is stuck in his throat. Unable to think of a response, he takes the drinks and passes one to Jim.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Jim says, touching their bottles together.

Everything becomes a bit hazy after that.

Being a recluse has done terrible things for Hikaru’s alcohol tolerance, and people keep buying him drinks which doesn’t help either. Hikaru loses track of Jim for what feels like hours, and when he finds him again, Jim’s shrugging on his jacket.

“You’re leaving?”

“Federation Diplomacy exam tomorrow,” Jim says apologetically. “Would hate to miss it… again.”

“First rule of diplomacy: show up on time.”

Jim laughs. “You’re a natural. Are you sure you don’t want to change majors? Captain your own ship someday?”

“Nice try,” Hikaru says. He hesitates for a moment. “Do you have a second? Just before you go.”

Jim’s face breaks out into a grin. “Sure.”

Jim follows Hikaru down the corridor that leads to the bathroom. They’ve barely turned the corner before Hikaru’s backing Jim against a wall, taking Jim’s face in his hands, and kissing him hard. Jim lets out a muffled groan as he gets his hands around Hikaru’s waist, drawing their hips flush.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Jim murmurs when they part. Hikaru flushes. He can’t remember ever being this impulsive with anyone else. He can blame the liquor all he wants, but Jim has a particular sort of magnetism, something Hikaru can’t resist.

Jim leans in so his lips brush Hikaru’s ear. “It was the plant, wasn’t it? I knew it would get you hot.”

Hikaru bursts out laughing, caught off-guard by the quip. “You know it. I bet you give those to all the boys.”

“Only the plant nerds,” Jim concedes. He kisses Hikaru again, the wet slide of his tongue making Hikaru’s head spin. It’s good, but Hikaru wants _more_. He hooks his fingers around Jim’s belt loops, tugging him back towards the bathroom.

“C’mon,” Hikaru says, and Jim’s more than happy to comply.

By some stroke of luck, the bathroom is deserted. Hikaru pushes Jim into one of the stalls, locking the door behind them. Hikaru doesn’t wait, doesn’t tease, just falls to his knees and gets to work on Jim’s belt, freeing Jim’s cock in a matter of seconds.

“You’ve been thinking of this for a while, huh?” Jim runs his thumb over Hikaru’s lower lip, and Hikaru feels utterly pinned by his gaze.

“Yeah,” Hikaru says on an exhalation.

Jim’s hand moves to cup his jaw, and it’s not until Hikaru presses his lips to the head of Jim’s cock that Jim sighs and says, “Me too.”

The truth is, Hikaru _has _thought about this a lot, thought of how it would feel to back Jim up against a wall, thought about how it would feel to run his hands over his skin. He’s thought of this moment especially: the moment that he takes Jim’s cock into his mouth and swallows him down, the moment that he feels Jim bury his hands in his hair and shudder against him.

The bathroom floor is sticky and his jaw is already aching, but it’s worth it when he hears an _oh fuck_ from somewhere above him, quickly followed by the sound of Jim’s head falling back against the wall. Hikaru lets his eyes fall closed and loses himself in the feeling of it, Jim’s dick heavy on his tongue, Jim’s hands touching him, Jim all around him.

When Jim comes, Hikaru’s ready for it, swallowing him down and not letting up until his eyes are stinging with tears. Hikaru’s breathless by the time he finally pulls off, the world tilting slightly as he rises to his feet, the alcohol sending his world off-kilter.

Hikaru plants a palm on the wall against Jim’s head and leans in close. “How’s that for even?”

Jim finishes fixing his pants and runs his hands over the front of Hikaru’s jeans. Hikaru’s eyes fall closed when Jim gives his erection a squeeze through the fabric. “I wouldn’t say we’re even just yet.”

Jim pushes Hikaru against the opposite wall, presses the length of his body alongside Hikaru’s. He brings their mouths together as he gets hands under Hikaru’s shirt, dragging his blunt nails over his abs. Hikaru can only arch into his touch, holding Jim close so he can grind against his thigh.

Suddenly, the music spikes in volume, and it’s not until Hikaru hears his name that he realises what that must mean.

“Sulu? You in here?”

Hikaru groans against Jim’s mouth. There’s someone else here, someone looking for _him_. “Yeah?” he says, finally tearing himself away.

“What’s keeping you?” It sounds like Falkiner, his lab partner from first year. Hikaru has no desire to explain to him what’s keeping him occupied.

“Be right out,” Hikaru says instead, and holds himself still until the door opens and closes again.

Jim’s expression is entirely too smug. He gives Hikaru one last squeeze before leaning in close. “Next time,” he whispers and slips out of the stall, leaving Hikaru hard and aching. 

* * *

** _Hibiscus rosa-sinensis_ **

Hikaru sees more of Jim as the days lengthen and the weather grows warmer. Jim makes good on his promise the very next time they see each other, dragging Hikaru into an empty classroom and fucking him over the lectern.

“What if”—Hikaru interrupts himself with a groan as Jim runs his thumb over the head of his dick. “What if someone comes in?”

“Security override,” Jim says, tilting Hikaru’s head back to bite at his throat.

Hikaru gasps at the sharp sting of pain, but he doesn’t pull away. “You can do that?”

Jim laughs, low and dark in Hikaru’s ear. “Who do you think disabled security to the Astro Building the night we met?”

*

That encounter sets something of a precedent. Jim and Hikaru spend more time together, meeting up outside of classes. Sometimes they fuck, but more often when they meet it’s to share a meal in the cafeteria, or to cram for finals in the library. Hikaru’s almost surprised to find himself looking forward to these days as much as he does the sex, and if Jim feels differently then he certainly doesn’t show it.

It’s not long until summer break is upon them. For Jim and Hikaru, that means signing up for five third year subjects, and trying to do fourteen weeks of coursework in ten.

“Remind me why I thought this was a good idea,” Jim says one afternoon. They’re in the library, the golden sun streaming in through the pristine windows and making it difficult to focus.

Hikaru doesn’t even look up from his PADD. “Because a Starfleet Officer scraped you off the floor after a barfight and dared you to do it?”

Jim pauses, mid-yawn. “That was rhetorical, I feel that you should know that by now. I’m gonna get some more coffee. You want any?”

Hikaru groans. “If I drink any more today, I’ll throw up.”

“Suit yourself.”

As Jim leaves, he brushes Hikaru’s shoulder in a way that’s sort of intentionally accidental, the simple touch causing Hikaru’s heart rate to spike. Hikaru’s quickly learned that Jim’s a tactile person, always finding some excuse to touch him; a hand on his arm, an arm slung around his shoulders, their knees brushing together under the table.

Hikaru finds it _particularly_ unhelpful that those same hands have a habit of sneaking under his shirt or down his pants on a semi-regular basis. Hikaru thinks back to this morning when Jim had him bent in half and spent what felt like hours taking him apart with his fingers, slow and teasing, until he leaked all over his stomach and begged Jim to let him come. Hikaru’s developed something of a Pavlovian response to Jim’s hands, to the point that even the slightest touch sets him off. One of these days, Jim’s going to lay a hand on his thigh and Hikaru’s going to come in his pants, completely untouched.

“What are you thinking about?”

Hikaru starts. “Huh?”

Jim’s returned with his shitty replicator coffee, a grin spreading over his face as he takes his seat opposite Hikaru.

“You’ve got that look on your face again. Don’t think I don’t recognise it by now.” Jim leans in close and drops his voice to a whisper. “Do you want to go have a quickie in the bathroom?”

“You’re incorrigible,” Hikaru says, refusing to let Jim get a rise out of him. Jim runs a his foot up the inside of Hikaru’s leg, and it takes all of Hikaru’s self-control not to throw his PADD at him.

“Hikaru,” Jim singsongs, drawing out the last syllable.

Hikaru scowls at him. “Shut up and quiz me on the De Freiger Principle.”

*

Summer passes in an endless haze of lectures and flight sim sessions. Jim already has a leg-up on Hikaru, having taken all the Flight Engineering perquisites in his first year while Hikaru was busy learning about anaerobic respiration in Andorian algae. Not only does Jim have handle on the more technical aspects, he’s also apparently a literal genius—a fact that Hikaru’s reminded of every time he spouts off physics equations as easily as reciting the alphabet. Jim’s more than happy to help Hikaru get up to speed, but there’s only so much he can do.

One day, after a particularly gruelling theory exam, Hikaru reaches his breaking point. “Do you know what I see when I close my eyes?” Hikaru murmurs, his face buried in his hands.

Jim doesn’t miss a beat. “Is it my charming smile?”

Hikaru groans. “The Guttenborg Correction for Flight in High-Density Slipstreams.” 

Jim whistles lowly. “Yeah, okay, we’ve gotta get out of here.”

Jim insists they spend the afternoon at the beach, in spite of (or perhaps, because of) Hikaru’s numerous protests that he’ll fail tomorrow’s final if he doesn’t revise the Principle of Relative Inertia one last time. When they arrive, Hikaru squints up at the sun as if he’d forgotten it existed, and Jim can only laugh at his stunned expression. They spend hours at the beach, swimming in the surf and walking along the sand. The hibiscus flowers are in bloom, gorgeous pops of pink, red and orange that stand out stark against the foliage, and Jim happily helps Hikaru pick some to take back with them.

That night, Hikaru takes Jim back to his empty dorm and pushes him onto the sheets. He spends ages eating him out, tasting the salt on his skin until Jim is crying out and begging to be fucked. When Hikaru sinks into Jim, it’s a feeling that’s unlike anything else, all thoughts of physics and aerodynamics pushed from his mind.

Afterwards, they lie together in the darkness. “I know you’re thinking about it,” Jim says suddenly, quietly.

Hikaru’s heart stutters. “What am I thinking about?”

“The Principle of Relative Inertia.”

Hikaru laughs, running a hand over his face. Truthfully, he’d been thinking of how easy this is; how easy it is to be around Jim, to have Jim by his side. Being friends with Jim, fucking Jim. Hikaru always thought that sex would complicate a friendship, would open up so much potential for miscommunication and unreasonable expectations. But with Jim, it feels completely natural, just another facet of their relationship to be explored.

Hikaru’s not sure he feels like telling Jim that. So he says, “I just _know_ that there’s going to be a long answer response on that.”

“You’re gonna do great,” Jim says, raising their interlocked hands to his lips to press a kiss on the back of Hikaru’s hand.

Hikaru tries to draw his hand away. “Okay, but I should check my notes before we go to sleep because—”

“In a minute,” Jim says, pulling Hikaru’s hand back. He presses his mouth to the inside of his wrist, then leaves a slow trail of kisses up Hikaru’s forearm.

Hikaru never does end up revising Principle of Relative Inertia, but he passes his exam all the same.


	2. Chapter 2

** _Liquidambar styraciflua_ **

After summer finals, Hikaru has about a week to catch his breath before term resumes again. In that time, what feels like the entire population of California floods the campus at once as cadets return for the start of the academic year.

“I just can’t remember there ever being this many people,” Hikaru says one night. He’s at Jim’s place, helping him cook dinner. Or rather, Jim is cooking dinner while Hikaru occasionally tastes things. “And some of them are so _young,_ you know? You remember that kid from our Advanced Aeronautical class?”

“Russian kid?” Jim asks, stirring the rice with chopsticks.

Hikaru nods. “I’ve run into half a dozen cadets just like him! Where are they finding these kids, anyway?”

“Russia, apparently,” Jim says, picking up a piece of chicken and feeding it to Hikaru.

*

Hikaru’s shock of finding the campus suddenly full means he ends up spending more time at Jim’s. Jim technically has his own dorm not too far from Hikaru’s, but he spends most of his time off campus in his mom’s apartment.

“She won’t mind?” Hikaru had asked the first time Jim brought him here.

“Nah,” he’d said. “She spends most of the year off-planet for work.”

Jim’s voice was carefully inflectionless, and Hikaru knew better than to push. Jim never spoke about his family, but the fact that his name was _Kirk_ erased any mystery as to why. Winona Kirk was one of Starfleet’s most prominent researchers in space-time dilation, had spent her career conducting field research on planets with strong magnetic cores. And George Kirk—

“Anyway, this place is nice,” Jim had continued. “It’s off campus, no roommate, big comfy bed…”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t need to convince me,” Hikaru had said, drawing Jim into a kiss.

*

Now, Hikaru couldn’t be more grateful for the fact that Jim has his own place away from the hectic bustle of campus. Most of the time Hikaru shows up late and collapses face-first onto Jim’s couch, exhausted from a day of culturing plant-derived stem cells or memorising physics equations. Jim being one of those people who can subside on four hours sleep and a prayer, is always up and willing to watch shitty holos with Hikaru while he winds down.

Hikaru expects more of the same tonight.

They’re about halfway through the term, and fall has brought gusty winds that whip up Hikaru’s hair and leave his cheeks stinging. The leaves have started to turn, the sweetgums gone gorgeous and red. Hikaru thinks he could travel across galaxies, discover plants beyond his wildest imagination, but he’ll always miss this: the bright starbursts of red and gold, the shifting gradient as the leaves slowly turn.

When Hikaru finally arrives at Jim’s, it’s to find the table neatly set, complete with candlesticks and actual wineglasses rather than the coffee mugs they normally use. Jim’s cooked something rich and creamy, the smell permeating the entire apartment, and Hikaru’s stomach rumbles as he’s reminded of how hungry he is.

“Wow, what’s all this. Is it my birthday?” Hikaru asks, easily snaking a hand around Jim’s waist.

Jim presses a glass of wine into his hand, and kisses him in lieu of actually answering the question.

Hikaru frowns. “Seriously, what’s all this about?”

“Could you get the parsley out of the fridge?” Jim asks instead. Hikaru frowns but doesn’t comment, content to play Jim’s game at least for the moment.

Jim ignores the question all through dinner and well into dessert, Hikaru’s curiosity growing as the evening wears on. Finally, Jim sets down his spoon and regards Hikaru very intently.

“I have something important to ask you.”

Hikaru’s pretty sure he misses his mouth with his spoon. “Uh-oh. Are you going to ask me to go steady?”

“I want you to be my pilot.”

Hikaru blinks. “Your pilot.”

“Yes, my pilot. You know, what you’ve been training for? That thing where you fly the ships in space?”

“I know what a pilot is.”

“Well,” Jim says, taking a sip of wine. “I’m going to be taking the Kobayashi Maru next term.”

Hikaru frowns. “You’re asking for my help… for a simulation?”

“Not just any simulation. The Kobayashi Maru is notorious, _infamous_ for being unbeatable.”

“Until now, I suppose?”

Jim’s eyes are shining with the thrill of a challenge. This is the same guy who looked Hikaru dead in the eye all those months ago and said, _so do both_.

“I see no reason why I can’t beat it.”

Hikaru laughs, enamoured with Jim’s conviction. “Alright, let’s say I believed you—which I do,” he adds hastily at the sight of Jim’s affronted face. “Why do you need me? Isn’t it a test of your capacity to lead a crew?”

“Well you know what they say, a captain is only as good as his crew.”

“Nobody says that.”

“Hikaru,” Jim says, and he looks serious enough that Hikaru’s smile slips, just a little. “No one has ever beaten this test. I’m going to be the first, and if I’m going to do that, I need the best possible crew right there with me. And there’s no one else I would want flying my ship.”

Even though it’s just another simulation in a long line in simulations, just another hurdle to overcome on the path to graduation, Hikaru can’t help but feel a flush of pride that Jim’s asked this of him. For a brief moment, Hikaru allows himself to fantasise about what it would be like to _actually_ be Jim’s pilot: Jim in the captain’s chair, Hikaru at the helm.

Hikaru swallows hard. “Yeah Jim. Of course I’ll do it.”

* * *

** _Chrysanthemum morifolium_ **

It’s well after 2300 hours when Hikaru arrives at Jim’s apartment. Hikaru hovers nervously, flowers clutched in his clammy fist, mentally composing what he plans to say to Jim.

The Kobayashi Maru had been a disaster. Hikaru had heard horror stories from the other cadets, had even gone into the sim expecting an ambush. But nothing could prepare him for how it felt to see Jim struggle. Hikaru himself had barely managed to maintain his composure; after the Klingons opened fire and the alarms started blaring, he was overcome with dread as their shields slowly diminished. His panic had only intensified when they became inundated by casualty reports from sickbay.

No amount of piloting skill could have saved them. With all of their power diverted to shields, they were essentially dead in space, and Hikaru could do nothing but watch helplessly as their ship took hit after hit. When it was all over, Jim looked—he looked _frightened. _Eyes wide, breath coming fast. As if the simulation were reality, and he really had just led his crew to their deaths.

Now, Hikaru waits outside his door, unsure of what he’ll find inside. Jim had been called in immediately for a debrief and hasn’t answered any of Hikaru’s comm messages since. Hikaru rings the buzzer again, impatient.

Finally the door slides open to reveal Jim, his hair still damp from the shower, dressed down to sweats and a T-shirt.

Hikaru breathes out a sigh of relief. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Can I come in?”

Jim holds his gaze for a long moment. Hikaru’s never had to ask before. “Sure,” he says.

Jim steps aside and Hikaru follows him into the apartment. Hikaru lingers by the door, trying to figure out how to break the ice, but Jim spares him the trouble.

“What are those?”

Hikaru looks down at his hand. “Oh, they’re flowers.”

“I can see they’re flowers Hikaru, even I know that.”

“White chrysanthemums.” He hesitates a moment before adding, “They’re supposed to be a flower for condolences.”

“Like when someone dies?”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking of anything that dramatic.”

Jim laughs at that, some of the tension seeping from his shoulders. He crosses the space between them in three easy strides, and suddenly he’s taking Hikaru’s face in his hands and backing him against the wall. He pauses a beat before bringing their mouths together, and Hikaru drops the flowers in his haste to get his hands on Jim.

Jim kisses him like he wants to devour him, hands firm on his jaw and tongue insistent as it pushes pass his lips. He doesn’t let up, not for a single second, and it’s a struggle for Hikaru to break away.

“I’m sorry about the—”

“Shut up,” Jim says, and bites at Hikaru’s lips. He undoes all the fastenings on Hikaru’s uniform, doesn’t stop until it’s a pool of red on the ground and Hikaru’s left shivering, exposed. He takes Hikaru back to the bed and fucks him like he’s trying to prove a point, all the pent-up energy coursing through him as he drives Hikaru’s body into the mattress with each and every thrust. Hikaru barely recognises the sounds that are coming out of his mouth—they sound too desperate, too uninhibited to be coming from him. Jim silences him with a hand over his mouth and uses the leverage to force his back into a deeper arch, his breath hot on the back of Hikaru’s neck as he whispers filth into his ear.

When Jim comes, he bites down on the crest of Hikaru’s shoulder, muffling his groan into Hikaru’s skin. Hikaru barely has a moment to process the bright spark of pain before Jim’s pulling out, flipping him onto his back, and swallowing him down like he’s hungry for it.

Hikaru gets his fingers into Jim’s hair and fucks his face, and Jim can only moan as he relaxes his throat and just _takes_ it. It’s not long before Hikaru comes with his dick halfway down Jim’s throat, and Jim swallows that too, his throat working around the sensitive head until Hikaru shudders with hypersensitivity.

Later, after they’ve both caught their breath and Jim has pressed an apologetic kiss to the bite on Hikaru’s shoulder, Hikaru slips out of bed. Jim wolf-whistles when Hikaru bends over to pick up the his uniform, and Hikaru summarily flips him off. Finally, he picks up the flowers.

Jim doesn’t have a vase, but Hikaru finds a vodka bottle in the recycler that might do the trick. He carefully trims their stems and mixes up a sugar solution, then arranges them in the bottle, one by one.

“Anyone ever tell you that you missed your calling?”

Hikaru smiles, adding the last flower to the arrangement. “How do you mean?”

“I don’t know, I just think you could have been a florist. Or maybe a botanist.”

Hikaru returns to the bed and kisses the smug look off Jim’s face. “Hmm, botany. Sounds interesting,” he says, settling into Jim’s arms.

Jim’s silent for a long time, stroking his hands up Hikaru’s back. Hikaru’s exhausted, is almost at the point of drifting off when Jim speaks again.

“I’m taking the test again.”

Hikaru raises his head off Jim’s chest. “Jim—”

“I know there’s a way Hikaru, there’s gotta be. I know I can beat it.” Jim’s voice is full of conviction, an unwavering certainty.

Hikaru knows better than to try and convince him otherwise. “Okay,” he says instead, and lays his head upon Jim’s chest.

* * *

** _Cannabis sativa _ **

The term that follows is the most intense of Hikaru’s time at Starfleet Academy. If he’s not doing flight sims then he’s in the lab, and if he’s not in the lab then he’s in the library. Day after day; lather, rinse, repeat.

At his advisor’s suggestion, Hikaru also signs up for Advanced Hand-to-Hand on top of his already bloated course load. She’d explained that these extracurricular skills would put him head and shoulders above the rest come graduation. That was the theory. The reality is that after ten hours of assorted lectures, practicums and lab sessions, Hikaru has the pleasure of getting the shit kicked out of him by guys twice his size.

After his third facial fracture in as many weeks, Hikaru makes the wise decision to specialise in fencing. Hikaru hasn’t fenced since high school, but the épée feels the same as it always did, the familiar rhythm coming back to him as naturally as breathing. It’s hard to believe that this could ever be useful in a real-life scenario; Hikaru tries to imagine a swordfight with an alien creature on some faraway planet and comes up blank. But fencing counts the same as any other combat technique, and Hikaru’s not about to shy away from an opportunity to make his life a little easier.

With his schedule as packed as it is, Hikaru has almost no time to socialise. That extends to his time with Jim. It’s not until Winter Break is approaching that Hikaru realises they haven’t spoken in a while, both of them caught up in their respective courses, the assessment season hitting them hard.

Hikaru steals a spare moment between classes to comm Jim.

_> Hey stranger, long time no see. Doing anything for Winter Break?_

Hikaru pauses, then adds:

_> (Please don’t just say ‘you’)_

As Hikaru waits for a response, he scrolls up through their conversation. The last message Jim had sent him had been a dirty text that, in retrospect, was probably actually a booty call. It’s dated three weeks ago. Hikaru runs his hands over his face, recalling a vague memory of receiving the comm during a lab session, too busy to reply.

Hikaru feels a pang of guilt as he stares at the blank screen of his comm. But then he has a Xenomycology lecture and later a fencing class, and the issue falls from his mind. It’s not until he’s returning to his dorm at 2200 hours that he realises Jim hasn’t replied.

Hikaru pauses with his fingers hovering over the keypad. Radio silence isn’t Jim’s style; he was always finding the time between classes, _during_ classes even, to reply to Hikaru’s messages.

Hikaru makes a snap decision. He pulls up the Starfleet Academy profile of Cadet Leonard H. McCoy, MD and says:

_> Hey McCoy, I was wondering if you’d seen Jim recently?_

McCoy’s a busy guy, taking the standard Medical Track and putting in extra hours at the clinic too. Hikaru figures it will take him hours to reply.

And yet, his comm pings as soon as he sets it down.

_> Kobayashi Maru was today_

Hikaru sucks in a breath. He’d completely forgotten today was the day that Jim would be retaking the test. He’s about to type out a response when a new message pops up on the screen.

_> It didn’t go well_

Hikaru swallows hard. He’d promised Jim he’d help him prepare, had even offered to pilot for him again. But then he’d been assigned an extra project, which had meant more hours in the lab, and all thoughts of the Kobayashi Maru were pushed rapidly from his mind.

Hikaru quickly types out another message.

_> Do you know where he would be?_

Hikaru drums his fingers on the desk, waiting for the reply.

_> Your guess is as good as mine_

_> Probably getting shitfaced _

Hikaru sighs. He types out a quick thank you, then pockets his comm. He has a good idea of where Jim might be.

*

“Thought I might find you here.”

Jim doesn’t jump, doesn’t even flinch at the sound of Hikaru’s voice. He just sits on the edge of the building, shoulders hunched in on himself, his whole posture crumpled. The view from the top of the Astrophysics Building is as glorious as Hikaru remembers, the campus lit up before them, a soft glow emanating from all of the buildings.

Hikaru settles down next to Jim, close enough that their shoulders touch.

“Doing it the old-fashioned way, huh?” Hikaru gestures to Jim’s hand where he’s holding an honest-to-god hand-rolled joint between his first two fingers.

“That’s right,” Jim says, raising the joint to his lips and taking drag. He passes it over to Hikaru who takes it from him after a moment’s hesitation. The smoke is hot and dry when he inhales, nothing at all like the vaporisers he’s used to. It burns his throat a little when he inhales too quickly, and Hikaru can’t quite stifle his cough.

“You’re supposed to puff it.”

“I know how to smoke weed, Jim.”

Jim laughs, but it comes out hollow. “So that’s what you’ve been growing in that lab of yours.”

“It’s going to be the topic of my dissertation,” Hikaru says with a smile as he passes the joint back. Jim’s eyes are rimmed red, and Hikaru can’t tell if it’s from the weed or if he’s been crying.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you today,” Hikaru says. For a split second, Jim’s face betrays his true feelings; his eyes wide with hurt, the naked pain on his face making Hikaru’s heart lurch. And then it’s gone. Jim quickly schools his features into something neutral, shrugging with indifference.

“It’s fine.”

“No really, it isn’t. I know how much this meant to you, Jim. I said I would be there and I wasn’t. And I’m sorry.”

Hikaru hesitates, not knowing how far to push. The heart of the matter is that for Jim, the Kobayashi Maru is more than a simulation. Hikaru thinks of Lieutenant George Kirk, celebrated hero of the Federation. He thinks of Jim’s white-knuckled grip on his PADD when they’d studied the _USS Kelvin_. He thinks of how on the eve of his birthday, Jim had disappeared for a whole week without so much as a comm message.

Hikaru lays a cautious hand on Jim’s back and Jim flinches, dislodging it. Jim has never shied away from his touch before.

“Jim,” Hikaru says quietly. “Is this about—”

Jim squeezes his eyes shut as if anticipating a blow. “Don’t,” he says through clenched teeth. “This is about—”

Jim hesitates. Takes a deep breath. “This is about the fact that Starfleet has designed a test to be unbeatable. And I’m going to be the first person to prove that it’s not.”

Hikaru swallows around the lump in his throat. “Okay, Jim,” Hikaru says, but it’s not the meaningless placation that it was last time. Hikaru knows that Jim’s not going to give up on this, that he’s going to see it through until the end, whatever that may be.

Perhaps Jim picks up on that, because something eases in his posture at Hikaru’s words. He relights the joint, takes a long, slow drag, blowing smoke into the night air. He leans into Hikaru as he passes the joint and stays there, his head resting on Hikaru’s shoulder.

A comfortable silence falls over them as they finish the joint, and when the get down to the end, they shotgun it. Jim’s lips are soft against Hikaru’s, and the intimacy of sharing the same breath has desire coiling in Hikaru’s gut.

“You know, I have fond memories of this rooftop,” Hikaru says.

“Oh I bet you do. You want to know what I remember? Bruised knees and a sore jaw.”

Hikaru bursts out laughing. “Such a romantic. I guess chivalry is dead after all.”

“Seems that way.”

“I made it up to you, though.”

Jim’s eyes drops to Hikaru’s mouth. “You did.”

Hikaru kisses him, soft and tentative, giving Jim the space to pull away if he wants to. Jim keeps the kiss chaste, and when he draws back he’s smiling, just a little.

“It’s funny,” Hikaru says. “The last time I was here it was because you hacked security. But this time I just swiped my card and the door opened for me, no problem.”

“One of the advantages of being on the Command Track.”

“They should put it in the brochure,” Hikaru says with a smile. “You never told me how you managed to do that, by the way.”

“The security override?” Jim runs a hand through his hand, shrugging with false modesty. “Oh it’s easy. All you have to do is gain access to Starfleet’s network which allows you to install a subroutine, and from there all you need to do is—”

Jim stops in his tracks.

“Jim?”

“Holy shit,” he says softly. “I think that I—If I could only find a way to—”

Jim looks stricken, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.

“_Jim._”

Jim turns to Hikaru. He takes a deep breath and says all in a rush, “I think I know how to beat the Kobayashi Maru.”

* * *

** _Malus domestica_ **

Spring bursts early that year, bringing with it the bloom of magnolias that Hikaru’s always loved. It also brings Jim’s third attempt of the Kobayashi Maru and with it, a feeling of déjà vu.

“We’re receiving a distress signal from the _USS Kobayashi Maru._ The ship has lost power and is stranded. Starfleet Command has ordered us to rescue them.”

Hikaru remembers relaying that exact order all those months ago, remembers the way Jim had said, _thank you Mr. Sulu_ in a way that had made him smile. Now, Hikaru waits behind the view screen at parade rest. The screen is calibrated so he can see through it like glass while it projects the image of space to everyone on the other side. 

In the captain’s chair, Jim is all bravado. At first Hikaru thinks it’s a cover for his nerves, all style and no substance. Hikaru hovers from one foot to the other as Jim projects a false nonchalance, seemingly unaffected by the fact that he’s being approached by enemy ships. Hikaru remembers this part, remembers the spike of adrenaline that comes with the realisation that they’re surrounded and outnumbered. The first time, Jim had kept calm, but it wasn’t long until his composure had slipped entirely. Now, he seems completely relaxed—_too_ relaxed. It makes Hikaru nervous.

It’s not until Jim pulls out an apple and takes a bite that Hikaru knows Jim’s got something up his sleeve. _He’s showing them up, _Hikaru thinks. Hikaru imagines the brass who are observing from the upper levels, lieutenant commanders and other high-ranking personnel who are about to watch this all blow up in their faces.

As soon as the thought occurs to him, the screens short out, fading to black in a burst of static. When they come online again, Jim is looking especially smug. “Arm photons and prepare to fire on the Klingon Warbirds.”

After a brief hesitation, his crew follow his orders.

The shots hit. The attack is successful. Jim even has the audacity to make finger-guns as he imitates firing shots at the Klingons. When he rises to his feet, he looks triumphant.

“So, we’ve managed to eliminate all enemy ships, no one on board was injured, and the successful rescue of the _Kobayashi Maru _crew is underway.” He takes another bite, aiming his gaze up at the brass.

From the ground level, Hikaru smiles to himself unseen.

*

“You know that’s really not a good look on you,” Hikaru says when he catches up with Jim later.

Jim smiles innocently. “What look?”

“Arrogant asshole.”

“Damn, I was going for charmingly confident,” he says, drawing Hikaru in by his waist. “When’s your next class?”

“Not until 1500 hours.”

Jim raises an eyebrow. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

When it comes down to it, Hikaru is _always _thinking what Jim’s thinking.

Jim is impatient as they make their way back to Hikaru’s dorm, can barely keep his hands to himself on the trip across campus. More than once, he tries to pull Hikaru into a bathroom, and it takes all of Hikaru’s willpower to dissuade him.

Riley has a class that runs all afternoon, so when they arrive Jim doesn’t hesitate, just shoves Hikaru against the wall and gets his hands on his ass, artlessly grinding their hips together.

“Wanna ride you,” Jim says, and Hikaru’s dick throbs at the image of Jim in his lap, slowly lowering himself onto Hikaru’s cock.

“Yes,” Hikaru hisses. It’s not long before Jim has him on the ground with his pants tangled around his knees and his dick hard and leaking against his stomach. Jim swallows him down and the sudden burst of pleasure makes Hikaru’s brain short-circuit, dizzy to the point that he barely notices Jim pressing his fingers against his lips. Hikaru sucks them into his mouth, gets them nice and wet, and within seconds Jim is pushing two spit-slick fingers into himself, his eyelashes fluttering and mouth falling open as he works himself open.

Hikaru could live a thousand lifetimes and never tire of this: the sight of Jim slowly sinking down onto his cock; the feeling of Jim hot and tight around him. Jim rides Hikaru hard, his thighs straining with the effort. A steady stream of gasps and moans falls from Jim’s lips until Hikaru suddenly grips him tight, digging his thumbs into the hollows of Jim’s hips as he spills deep inside him.

After they come, Jim doesn’t get up right away, just collapses on top of Hikaru as if he wants to keep him inside.

“It’s your birthday on Thursday,” Jim murmurs into the hollow of Hikaru’s throat.

“It is,” Hikaru says, running a hand through Jim’s hair. “Am I going to get another cactus? I think mine’s getting a little lonely.”

Jim laughs, finally shifting off Hikaru to collapse beside him. “I think I can maybe do better this year. Will I see you before then?”

Hikaru scrubs his eyes. He has his Hand-to-Hand final Tuesday, and then he has sim practice on Wednesday. Hikaru was placed on the Reserve Pilot’s list a few weeks ago, and has been spending every free evening running flight sims and preparing himself for every scenario. The knowledge that he could be called on to pilot at any moment is equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

“I’m not sure I can manage it.”

“Thursday it is, then,” Jim says, then presses a kiss to his jaw.

*

On Wednesday, the student body is summoned for an academic hearing. Hikaru watches Jim rise ashen-faced to take his place before the tribunal, watches him flinch when Commander Spock says, _a captain cannot cheat death._

Hikaru’s heart lurches. Jim covers his pain with a false bravado, the same way he always has, but Hikaru can see through the façade. After the hearing he’s going to find Jim—flight sims be damned—and they’re going to spend the night getting drunk and watching shitty holos, or doing whatever it is that Jim needs to put this day behind him.

But then the distress signal comes in from Vulcan, and the cadets are ordered to file out. And in all the chaos of the cadets hurrying to receive their assignments, Hikaru loses sight of Jim entirely.


	3. Chapter 3

** _Stacerious erullus_ **

The _Enterprise_ has a certain presence. She hums, as if she has a life-force of her own. And if you head down to the bowels of the ship and get close to her warp core, you can hear the beat of her pulse, can feel the energy radiating out from her core.

Hikaru listens to that hum for hours until he finally concedes that sleep is beyond him. Eyes rubbed red and muscles aching, he shrugs on a tracksuit and steps out into the corridor, blinking hard as he adjusts to the light.

It’s Delta shift, which means there’s only a skeleton crew to keep the ship up and running. The hallways are deserted, and Hikaru doesn’t run into anyone as he traces an unfamiliar path to the Botany Lab. He’s admitted with a faint _beep_, the ship recognising his credentials even though he’s not yet graduated. 

The lab is as pristine as any of the labs at the Academy, and for a second Hikaru can almost believe that he’s earthbound, that the last forty-eight hours have been nothing more than a twisted nightmare. Hikaru shakes the feeling; pretending never got him anywhere. He instead attunes himself to the hum of the _Enterprise_, letting reality sink in.

Hikaru wanders through the lab inspecting all the unfamiliar species. Some of these offcuts are unlike anything he’s seen on Earth. There’s an Andorian plant he’s only ever seen in pictures that has tubular leaves designed to trap water. There’s an Orion plant with silvery foliage, adapted to reflect the harsh light from the planet’s two suns. There’s a—

Hikaru freezes.

Before him is a plant with broad leaves, one that resembles Earth’s agave species.

Cautiously, he raises a hand to touch the alien plant. Its leaves are glossy, the texture smooth beneath his fingers. Hikaru’s breath catches as he runs his thumb along the length of one of its leaves. There’s that familiar prickle behind his eyes. Hikaru takes a deep breath, his chest shuddering.

Hikaru’s barely extended his other hand to touch the plant when the door to the lab slides open.

It’s Jim.

Jim looks utterly exhausted, fatigue written into the lines of his posture. Half his face is still marred by bruises, even though Hikaru’s sure McCoy would have tried to treat him. Superficial bruising is a small scale injury compared to what some of the crew has been through, and Hikaru can all too easily imagine Jim refusing treatment when others are in pain.

Hikaru hastily steps back from the plant. “How did you—”

“How did I know you’d be here?”

Hikaru nods.

“Where else would you be?”

Jim strolls across the threshold with his hands behind his back, like a kid in an antique store who’s been warned not to touch anything. Jim, of course, does not have the technical qualifications to step foot in this lab. But he’s the captain now, and there is no part of this ship that’s beyond his jurisdiction.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Jim asks when he draws level with Hikaru.

Hikaru shakes his head.

“Me neither.” Jim leans in close to look at the plant in front of Hikaru. “What’s this?”

“_Stacerious erullus_,” Hikaru says, his voice coming out strained. “It’s—it was native to Vulcan.”

Jim stills. The recycled air suddenly feels too thin. Talking is hard, but the silence feels worse, so Hikaru says, “Plants like these are adapted for arid climates. They have a waxy cuticle that helps retain moisture and prevent evaporation.”

“Hikaru,” Jim says softly.

“In addition to preventing water loss,” Hikaru continues, and there’s a definite tremble in his voice now, “it helps insulate against heat. Which is important for planets that have long days and harsh suns, like—”

Hikaru breaks off. His hand has begun to shake where it’s cradling the leaf. Jim gently takes it in his own and says his name again, but Hikaru can’t speak. For a long moment Hikaru can only squeeze his eyes shut, his heart lurching with every stuttered breath.

“I can still see it,” Hikaru whispers. “Every time I close my eyes. I see Vulcan—an entire planet, an entire race just—just gone. Like they never even existed.”

Jim draws him in with a hand around his waist, the contact a relief even as Hikaru struggles to swallow back his tears. “I see all those ships. Everyone that we’ve known for the past four years. Just reduced to debris.” Jim inhales sharply. Hikaru can’t bear to open his eyes and see his own grief reflected on Jim’s face.

“It just—it all feels—”

“Insurmountable,” Jim murmurs.

“Yes,” Hikaru says, finally opening his eyes. He’s hit with a sense of relief because Jim gets it, _of course_ he would. He was right there on the bridge with Hikaru, he’s seen what Hikaru’s seen, heard what he’s heard. When Hikaru was tumbling off the edge of the drill, Jim was right there with him, diving into freefall just to save him. No one _could_ understand like he does.

Hikaru blinks his eyes back into focus, wiping them on the sleeve of his jacket. “I feel so—”

His voice breaks. This is the crux of it, this is where his heartache begins and ends. This is the one emotion that even comes close to eclipsing his grief. It feels selfish to feel this way, let alone to say the words out loud; how can he fixate on something so insignificant in the face of all this destruction? How can he complain about his feelings when so many others have lost their lives?

But then Jim wraps his hand around the nape of Hikaru’s neck and presses their foreheads together. Hikaru feels the thought escape him in a whisper, slipping from his lips before he can stop it.

“I feel so guilty.”

Hikaru can barely choke back a sob before Jim is drawing him close, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight.

“You have nothing to feel guilty for, Hikaru. You saved the lives of every person on board this ship.”

Hikaru lets out a sound that’s halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Yeah, by making a stupid rookie error.”

“By piloting us to safety more than once,” Jim says, drawing away from Hikaru so he can look him in the eye. “There aren’t many pilots who could navigate through all that debris. The ship would have sustained irreparable damage if it weren’t for you. Hikaru, look at me”—Hikaru’s eyes snap back to Jim—“you have _nothing_ to feel guilty for.”

Hikaru can’t say anything to that, can only nod as is swallows down another sob. Jim draws him in again and Hikaru buries his face in Jim’s shoulder, his whole body shuddering with every exhale.

Jim holds him like that for what feels like an age. He doesn’t tell Hikaru that everything’s going to be okay, and he doesn’t tell Hikaru that it’s going to get any easier. He just holds him close, his hand cradling the back of his head, until Hikaru’s gasps begins to match Jim’s slow, even breaths.

When Hikaru’s ready, he doesn’t say anything. He just takes Jim’s hand in his own, and wordlessly leads him back to his quarters.

* * *

** _Helianthus annuus_ **

Their return to Earth is marked by a slate of press conferences, interviews, and media statements. Hikaru manages to sidestep the brunt of it, but Jim is at the forefront. His face is grave as he speaks of his crew and the brave sacrifice of the officers who lost their lives. When Jim’s voice trembles as he extends his condolences to their families, Hikaru knows it’s not for show.

Hikaru returns to a sunlit campus after meeting with his own family. It’s surreal to be back, though only a few weeks have passed. The halls are silent. The campus is deserted. Hikaru’s dorm is empty. He takes one look at Riley’s side of the room, Riley who was assigned to the _Farragut_, and immediately backs out.

He has plenty of civvies stored at Jim’s place, anyway.

*

The next few weeks pass in a daze.

They’ve been given three weeks mandatory leave before all the official debriefings begin, but time feels somehow stretched, somehow elastic. To Hikaru, it feels like an eternity, all those days laid out before him with nothing to fill them.

But then Hikaru thinks of everything that awaits him on the other side of that. The memorial service. Their graduation ceremony—and Hikaru’s heart lurches at the thought of all those empty seats. The psych eval he’ll need to pass before they clear him for active duty again. But before that, there’s Jim’s disciplinary hearing, looming bigger and more frightening than anything that Hikaru’s up against.

“They’re going to rule in your favour,” Hikaru says one night. He and Jim are tangled together in the darkness, sweat-slick limbs pressed against each other in spite of the sweltering heat. Jim has long since fallen asleep, his breathing deep and even, but Hikaru says the words out loud anyway.

“They’re going to rule in your favour,” he repeats like a prayer. Then he presses a kiss to Jim’s jaw, and tucks his head under his chin.

That’s how Hikaru spends his nights.

His days are spent lounging around Jim’s apartment in his underwear, watching anything other than the news, and drinking beer that’s never quite cold enough. Jim’s often busy during the day, but he always comes back to Hikaru. Sometimes they have sex, but mostly they just hold each other, lying awake in the darkness, listening to each other breathe.

Jim spends a solid week meeting with the families of all the _Enterprise_ crew who lost their lives, returns late at night smelling like whiskey and smoke. Those nights, Hikaru holds him against his chest, just like Jim did for him aboard the _Enterprise_, and waits until his breathing evens out.

*

As the days wear on, Jim spends more time and more time with the other cadets from the _Enterprise_. There’s McCoy of course, but also Chekov, Uhura, and Scotty. Jim drags Hikaru out to meet with them on a few occasions, but Hikaru spends most of the time fiddling with his beer bottle while Jim and Scotty carry the conversation. Spock is conspicuously absent. Hikaru doesn’t miss the way Uhura is constantly checking her comm when she thinks no one is watching, a worried look in her eye that she’s never quick enough to conceal.

One night, after meeting with the rest of the _Enterprise_ crew (and Hikaru mentally chastises himself for thinking of them like that because they’re not a crew, they’re not _anything_—just a group of cadets bound together by tragedy), Jim joins him in the shower.

“Tonight went well,” Jim murmurs. He sidles up behind Hikaru, taking the washcloth from his hands, and begins soaping up Hikaru’s chest.

“You did make Uhura laugh,” Hikaru concedes.

“Hey, I make her laugh all the time.”

“Yeah. _At _you.”

Jim nips at Hikaru’s ear in a way that would be tender if it weren’t clearly intended as retaliation. 

“Asshole,” Hikaru gasps, squirming in Jim’s arms.

Jim makes a noncommittal sound and Hikaru takes it as an agreement. Jim continues to run the washcloth over Hikaru’s skin, slow, firm movements that have Hikaru relaxing into his touch. Hikaru closes his eyes and lets his head fall against Jim’s shoulder, and for a long time he loses himself in the sound of the running water and the touch of Jim’s hands.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” Jim says, and Hikaru’s heart seizes because that’s _all _he’s been thinking about. But then Jim says, “What it was like to be up there.”

“Oh,” Hikaru says. Out of all the millions of ways that sentence could have ended, Hikaru wasn’t expecting that.

“I dream about it too,” Jim adds. “Me on the bridge. You at the helm.”

“Jim.” Hikaru’s cautioning him because it seems too dangerous to dream, too reckless to hope that—

“When I sat in that chair after it was all over. It felt right. Didn’t you feel the same?”

Hikaru struggles to dredge up the memory: those scarce minutes after warping out of the Space Dock and before they encountered the _Narada; _those precious moments when flying was about adventure, not survival.

“Yes,” Hikaru whispers so softly, it’s nearly lost to the sound of water. It seems almost like a betrayal to say it out loud. The idea that he still wants to carry on with his dream, when so many of their friends—when so many of them—

“If the board rules in my favour,” Jim says and Hikaru’s heart lurches because that’s a big_ if, _“we could be stationed on a ship by the end of the month.”

Neither of them mention what will happen if they don’t.

“That’s so soon,” Hikaru says instead. He turns in Jim’s arms so they’re face to face, close enough that Hikaru can see the droplets of water clinging to Jim’s eyelashes.

“Just think about it. If it’s what you want.”

“I will,” Hikaru says, and kisses him.

*

After that night, something shifts in Hikaru’s mind. He finds himself idly daydreaming about flying or collecting plant samples from faraway planets. He’d never thought about it much during his time as a cadet because he didn’t have a frame of reference. But now that he knows what it feels like to be seated at the helm, to run his hands over the controls and feel them respond to his every touch, he can’t seem to think of anything else.

It’s no balm for his grief, of course. Everywhere Hikaru looks, he’s reminded of what they lost. But for the first time since the _Narada_, Hikaru feels a spark of hope from deep within his chest, something he can cling to on those endless nights.

On the eve of Jim’s hearing, Hikaru decides to surprise him with dinner. He leaves the apartment early and takes the tram to the farmers’ markets, enjoying being out in the city for the first time in weeks. He and Jim used to come here every other weekend, before they got too busy to indulge in something as trivial as a home-cooked meal. The memory is bittersweet, a relic of a time where the worst problems Hikaru faced were assignment deadlines and inconsiderate lab partners.

Hikaru returns hours later, laden with fresh produce and seasonal vegetables. After weeks of living off instant ramen, Hikaru had struggled to hold back, eventually settling on buying a little bit of everything. 

“Woah,” Jim says, rushing to helping Hikaru with the bags. “Did you leave anything for everyone else?”

“Funny,” Hikaru says mirthlessly. 

Jim takes a bouquet of flowers out from underneath Hikaru’s arm, leaving him free to haul the bags onto the kitchen counter. “Are these for me?”

“Yeah,” Hikaru says, already searching the cupboards for a vase. Hikaru had insisted on one after last time, saying that fresh-cut flowers deserve better than repurposed liquor bottles.

Jim holds the large, yellow flowers in his hands, staring at them for a long moment. “Sunflowers,” he says eventually.

Hikaru smirks. “What tipped you off?”

Jim elbows Hikaru in the ribs, unable to tear his eyes away from the vibrant petals. “They’re beautiful. Let me guess: they mean good luck?”

Hikaru’s heart stutters. He lets out a slow breath, then moulds himself to Jim’s back, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “No, I just—I just saw them and they reminded me of you. They’re your colour,” he adds quietly.

Jim half-turns so he can look Hikaru in the eye. “Our colour,” he says, and presses their lips together.

That night, Jim takes Hikaru’s cock in his mouth while he slowly works him open. Hikaru’s helpless, caught between the wet heat of Jim’s mouth and the press of Jim’s fingers inside him. It’s not until Hikaru lets out a strangled _please_ that Jim finally relents, sinking into him while Hikaru comes unravelled beneath him. Jim’s hand finds Hikaru’s in the darkness and he links their fingers together as he begins rocking into him, refusing to quicken his pace even as Hikaru begs for more. Jim touches their foreheads together, his breath hot against Hikaru’s lips, as if he wants to be as close as possible to Hikaru, as if being buried inside him isn’t even enough. After Jim’s come, he brings their interlocked hands down to Hikaru’s cock, and within seconds Hikaru’s spilling between them, gasping out Jim’s name until his shudders subside.

Later, they lie together with Hikaru’s head on Jim’s chest as Jim strokes a hand down his back.

“They’re going to rule in your favour,” Hikaru says. It’s not the first time he’s said it out loud, but it’s his first time saying it to Jim.

Jim takes a deep breath, and then another. “I hope so,” he says eventually, and for the first time in all that Hikaru’s known him, he doesn’t sound convinced.

* * *

** _Mammillaria backebergiana_ **

Jim leaves early the next morning. Hikaru has a hazy memory of Jim kissing him goodbye, can remember blinking the image of Jim’s cadet reds into focus before drifting off to sleep again. Hikaru wakes properly several hours later to find the room drenched in sunlight, his comm telling him that it’s just gone 1100 hours and no, Jim hasn’t contacted him.

Jim’s hearing isn’t scheduled to finish for another couple of hours, but Hikaru can’t bear to sit on his hands and wait. The hearing is being held on the east side of campus, and Hikaru wants to be nearby as soon as it’s finished. He quickly comms Jim before leaving:

_> Meet me at the Astro Building._

*

The view from the top of the Astrophysics Building is even more beautiful by day, with the campus green spread out beneath him and the view of the sea stretching out to the horizon. Hikaru sits on the edge of the rooftop and routinely checks his comm, fidgeting relentlessly.

About half an hour later, Hikaru’s comm beeps:

_> Got held up, be there soon_

Hikaru’s heart thuds. If he got held up then that could mean—Hikaru shoves that thought down. He types out a hasty message asking Jim the outcome, but there’s no response. He sends another asking how soon is ‘soon,’ but Jim doesn’t answer that either.

Hikaru’s pacing back and forth across the rooftop when the door finally opens, and Jim emerges.

“Jim!”

Jim’s smile is bright, and Hikaru can barely dare to believe it, _cannot_ believe it, not until he hears Jim say—

“Cleared of all infractions!”

All the air leaves Hikaru’s chest in a rush. “Jim, that’s so—I’m so glad.” It sounds trite, but Hikaru can’t help it. Glad doesn’t even begin to describe how he’s feeling, can’t ever hope to quantify the magnitude of the relief that washes over him. Jim hasn’t been discharged. Jim hasn’t been penalised.

“I know,” Jim says, pulling Hikaru into a hug. Hikaru holds on tight, the tension in his chest easing as the words finally sink in.

“There’s something else too,” Jim says, pulling back. “Here,” he says, pushing a small box into Hikaru’s hands.

“What’s this?”

“Birthday present,” Jim says, and Hikaru nearly drops the box. Hikaru doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to think of his birthday the same way again, not after—

“Just open it,” Jim says softly, laying a gentle hand on Hikaru’s shoulder.

Hikaru opens the box with trembling fingers, and huffs out a laugh almost as quickly.

“A cactus.”

“To go with your other one.”

Hikaru can’t wipe the smile off his face. “You are surprisingly consistent.”

Jim grins. “You see the other thing that they told me at the hearing, is that they’re going to give me my own ship. And I was thinking that both of your cacti would look very nice in your quarters aboard the _Enterprise_.”

Hikaru gapes at him. “No way. They’re giving you the _Enterprise?_”

“That’s right. Starfleet’s Flagship. And the only thing left to ask is”—he takes Hikaru’s hand in his and sinks down to one knee—“Hikaru Sulu, will you be my pilot?”

For a long moment Hikaru can only stare, feeling ridiculous standing on a rooftop with a cactus in one hand, and Jim holding his other. It slowly occurs to him that a chance encounter on this exact rooftop has led to this moment, that meeting Jim was a crucial turning point Hikaru’s life. Hikaru thinks of every choice he’s made over the last four years, and realises that they’ve all been leading to this one pivotal question.

He doesn’t even need to consider it.

“It would be my honour,” Hikaru says with false solemnity. But when he pulls Jim up into a kiss, nothing about it is insincere.

**Author's Note:**

> Plants referenced in this story:
> 
> _Sambucus nigra_ — Elderflower/elderberry  
_Mammillaria spinosissima_ — A flowering cactus plant known as the “the spiny pincushion cactus”  
_Liquidambar styraciflua_ — American sweetgum  
_Chrysanthemum morifolium_ — Chrysanthemum  
_Cannabis sativa_ — Marijuana  
_Malus domestica_ — Apple  
_Stacerious erullus_ — A fictional Vulcan plant  
_Helianthus annuus_ — Sunflower  
_Mammillaria backebergiana_ — A subspecies of _Mammillaria spinosissima_
> 
> You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/scansionictus).


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